“You heard me. Fucking married. Of course, he didn’t mention this before, during, or after our hot as hell sex in the men’s bathroom. He just simply asked me ‘What the fuck was that?’ after he came, told me he was sorry, and went on about his business.” I push my legs faster as we run up a small hill, feeling the burn in my thighs.
“What a dick. Are you sure though? I mean, I didn’t see a ring and you know I hunt that out first thing.”
“Yeah, so do I. Apparently, Ian told Juls that he was married. He probably didn’t wear his ring so he could fuck me blind. Oh, and I almost forgot, to top the night off, Justin followed me outside and alluded to me fucking him since married men are my thing now.” Asshole.
Joey snaps his head toward me, eyes wide. “Are you fucking serious right now? Where the fuck was I when all this was happening? Oh, that’s right. I was eating my goddamned feelings.” He picks up his pace as I struggle behind him.
“Slow down! Your legs are miles longer than mine.”
“Crap, sorry.” He returns to my side. “I’m sorry about Reese, cupcake. I really am. But—”
“Don’t fucking say it, Joey.” I know exactly what his next words would be.
“I’m just saying—”
“Shut it, Holt,” I grit out as he spins around to face me, effortlessly running backward.
“You could be the sexy mistress. If the sex was that good, why give it up?”
Now I start sprinting and hear a squeal from him as he catches up within seconds. “Are you mental? I am not going to be his fuck buddy on the side. I don’t care how amazing the sex was or how hard he made me come. Fuck that shit.” I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, the sweat already starting to build on my skin.
“Ooohhh, how hard did he make you come? Was he huge? Please tell me it didn’t have some weird hook to it like Billy’s did.” He shakes his head quickly. “I’m not quite sure how I feel about that yet.”
“Jesus Christ. It is way too early to talk about dick sizes and which way they curve.” I pause. “But for the record, he’s massive and as straight as you pretended to be in high school.”
“I fucking knew it. You lucky bitch.”
We run in silence the rest of the way around the neighborhood, the only noises coming from us being our breathing and the sound of our shoes striking the pavement. I run fast and hard, desperately trying to push the memory of Reese and our hook up out of my mind and hoping to run away from it. But that isn’t going to happen, at least not today, and it isn’t happening for my running partner either. I can almost hear Joey’s mind working as we run, most likely coming up with all the possible secret rendezvous scenarios between Reese and myself. Needless to say, the five-mile trek today is both mentally and physically exhausting.
I shower and dress for the day after saying goodbye to Joey, so he can do the same. He only lives a few blocks from the bakery and will be back before we open at seven a.m. He is my only employee at the moment, seeing as I haven’t gotten around to hiring anybody to replace Tiffany after I fired her. I’m not entirely sure I need anybody else to work for me; Joey and I seem to manage just fine on our own. I grew up with him, going to high school together, and then to college where we both studied business. He was more than supportive when I dreamed of opening my own bakery and insisted on becoming my assistant so we could stay close. Although, deep down, I think he just wanted to sample all my new creations. Thank God for our daily runs, otherwise, I’m certain we would both be as big as a house.
I tie my favorite apron on and begin pulling the pastries, muffins, cupcakes, and cookies from the back racks and bringing them up front to the display cases. The house specialty is my banana nut muffins, which I spent five years perfecting the recipe on. They’re insanely delicious and it’s a struggle not to eat every one myself straight out of the oven. I sell out of them every day by noon and nothing makes me prouder. At a few minutes before opening, Joey comes hustling through the door carrying two coffees and his award-winning smile.
“I’m dick talked out, so don’t even,” I say as I open the register and count the money.
“Cupcake, there’s no such thing, trust me. I had them put in an extra shot of espresso for you this morning, figured you might need it,” he says, walking around the counter. “Although, perhaps you’d prefer hard liquor with your coffee today?” He hands me my piping hot cup and I smile weakly. He is handsomely dressed in dark jeans and a bright blue polo shirt that brings out the color in his eyes.